Lust, Loathing and a Little Lip Gloss (15 page)

“But that’s the whole point, Lorna! That night we didn’t answer to men! We only answered to the stars.” Then Maria paused and turned back to the window. “That’s where we found Jasper’s scythe.”

“Jasper’s…wait, are you talking about the murder weapon?” I exclaimed. I turned to Zach to see if he was as confused as I was. Zach was watching Maria intently with something that bore an odd resemblance to respect. Lorna was still scratching.

“We don’t know that it was the same scythe,” Lorna said carefully. “There must be plenty of scythes around…maybe not in San Francisco, but in other places. This one was next to a rusted old belt buckle with the letters
JW
engraved into it. Maria decided that both things belonged to a man named Jasper Windsor, but we don’t really know that.”

“I made up a whole story about good old Jasper, a ghost story,” Maria said. “Of course, whoever owned those things had to be a ghost, they were so old. It was an awful story, filled with violence and revenge…but maybe I didn’t just make it up. Maybe something was whispering into my subconscious. Maybe Jasper followed me here and he tried to get the revenge that I said I wanted. Maybe I am responsible for Enrico’s death in that way.”

Zach snorted derisively. “You people are high,” he said. “When are you going to get that when someone kicks it, that’s it? In the end the only thing any of us turns into is a feast for the worms.”

Lorna slapped him across the face. The sound echoed through the room as we all watched in stunned silence. “Never!” Lorna said, her voice hoarse with rage. “Never the dead.”

“I’m just saying it how it is, Mom!” Zach shot back, apparently unfazed by her outburst.

Lorna raised her hand again, but stayed it just in time. “You believe, Zach,” she said. “You just don’t like to admit it in front of strangers, but you told me. You told me you’re a believer.”

“I told you I might believe in life after death and you heard what you wanted to hear, just like you always do,” he muttered. His posture was slackening now, turning him once again into a sulker rather than the confronter he had been a moment earlier. Lorna, on the other hand, looked like she was the one who had been slapped. Her breathing was irregular and she was visibly shaking.

A psychiatry student could write an entire thesis on mentally disturbed behavior based on the subjects in this room.

The worst part was that Zach didn’t freak out when his mother whacked him, which meant that he had probably gotten used to it. That little detail immediately changed my perspective of the kid. He was no longer the weird rebel without a cause. He was a teenager that seriously needed help.

“Perhaps Zach’s right about Jasper,” Maria said in what was clearly forced joviality. “After all, we don’t know if he was ever real. But with this death we have to at least face the fact that Enrico had to have been attacked by something otherworldly. You saw the windows,” she said, directing her words to me. “They were locked. The chain lock was engaged. No human could have gotten in there, and then what you said you heard Enrico say into the phone…” Her voice broke off and she blinked her eyes rapidly. “He saw something. He had so many flaws, but he didn’t deserve this.” She looked at Lorna beseechingly. “I swear he didn’t. I didn’t wish it on him.”

Lorna stood up and walked to the side of Maria. The image of them was hard to dismiss: Lorna with her unflattering attire and unnaturally peach cheeks and Maria sitting by her side, all glamorous and distraught. It was like they were posing for a promotional photo of an ill-conceived play in which the playwright tried to channel both Tennessee Williams and Neil Simon simultaneously.

“This is stupid!”

I jumped, startled by Zach’s voice.

“Enrico wasn’t murdered by a stupid ghost.” He continued, “He was killed by some totally mortal person who managed to get away with it. And you know what? It’s not sad at all! Enrico was a big fat fuck and I bet that whoever took him out was only paying him back for some major shit he pulled on them!”

“Zach,”
Lorna snapped, her voice stronger than I had ever heard before. “I know you didn’t like Enrico. We all had hoped that he would use your father’s services when he opened his other restaurants, but that certainly doesn’t mean that he deserved to die! He was a human being and he was loved.” She turned to Maria again and said, more softly this time, “He was loved.”

Zach chose not to answer. Lorna’s hand on Maria’s shoulder tightened and then relaxed a few times until she had eased into the steady rhythm of a slow massage.

I stole a quick look at Zach, who was back to glaring at the beige carpet. Lorna and Maria were now quietly talking about how awful Enrico’s murder had been, but I was only half listening. I was focused on Zach. This visit had been a lot more revealing than I had anticipated. I didn’t know anything that would help me convince Kane that I had spoken to Enrico’s ghost, but I was beginning to think that I might have found a strong suspect for his murder. Feeling my gaze on him, Zach finally looked up and examined his silent inquisitor. The two of us remained like that for at least a full minute, with Zach seemingly daring me to ask the questions that I refused to ask in the presence of this particular audience.

“Oh Lord, is
that
the time?”

I blinked, Lorna’s voice jerking me out of my thoughts.

“Al’s supposed to pick me up at my work at five-thirty and it’s almost five now! Zach, we have to go!”

“I’m walking home,” he said, rising to his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous! I told Dad that you would be coming to the office to do your homework!”

“Tell him I flaked,” he said offhandedly. “Or I could tell him that you left work without checking in with him and came here. Your choice.”

Lorna looked positively panicked. Maria shot her a sympathetic look and took her hand in hers. “Al just worries about you, Lorna,” she said. “He doesn’t mean to be so impossible.

He simply can’t help it. He’s a man.”

“I know, but I really can’t be late and he can’t know I was here. He’ll be furious!” She rushed to the couch where she collected her purse. “You sure you won’t come with me, Zach?”

He shook his head, not budging an inch.

“Well, then, I’ll tell Dad you didn’t show up. But please, don’t come home too late. Your father worries about both of us, you know.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled. Lorna cast him a desperate look before giving me a halfhearted wave and running out, leaving me alone with Maria and Zach.

“Are you all right, Zach?” Maria asked. Then, without waiting for an answer she continued, “If one is to be creative at all, one must have parents who are at least a little bit crazy.”

Zach laughed humorlessly. “A little bit crazy? Did you just see the shit that I saw?”

Maria simply smiled. “I believe you will grow to be a true beacon of creativity. How can you not?”

Zach wasn’t even a little amused. “I’m out of here.”

I did some quick calculations in my head. I did want to talk to Maria alone, but now I wanted to talk to Zach, too, and while Maria seemed amenable to future conversations this might be my last chance to catch a few minutes with Zach. “If you like,
I
could give you a ride to where you’re going, Zach.” I offered.

“How do you know we’re going in the same direction?” he asked.

“I don’t, but I’ll give you a ride anyway.” I went over to Maria and gave her a quick hug. “I’d love to stop by for a visit again soon. Maybe even in a few days?”

“That would be fine,” she said with a sigh. “But do call first.”

“Absolutely.” I hesitated a moment before continuing. “Do you mind if I ask what did you do with Jasper’s scythe after you found it in the ghost town?”

Maria smiled coolly. “Not a thing. Lorna and I left it in that little city of nowhere—right in the middle of the desert. If it
was
the murder weapon, it was Jasper that brought it here, not me.”

I nodded, not sure what else to say, and walked out with Zach. “That may have been the most bizarre social call I’ve ever been on,” I said as we entered the courtyard.

Zach didn’t answer.

“Have your mom and Maria been friends long?” I asked.

“I dunno, I guess,” he mumbled. “They got closer after Maria split with Enrico.”

We walked through the front entrance without another word. It had gotten considerably colder in the short time I had been at Maria’s and I found myself picking up the pace to get to my car parked down the block. Once both Zach and I were inside my Audi, I turned to him, our proximity making it impossible to avoid eye contact without looking like he was being purposely rude. As I expected, he chose rudeness. “Can I ask you a question?”

He shrugged and stared stubbornly out the window.

“Is The Cure staging a comeback tour?”

Finally Zach snapped his head in my direction. “I’m not trying to look like the singer from The Cure! I’m making a visual statement!”

“Right, does that statement have anything to do with the weird excesses of the eighties? Because I’m pretty sure that was the last decade that Goth was cool.”

“Marilyn Manson is Goth!”

“Which explains why he’s not as famous as he used to be. Zach, I think the time has come to lighten up.”

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned back to the street. “Are you going to give me a lift or what?”

“That depends, where do you want to go?”

“My friend’s brother is working the door at this new cannabis club—”

“Oh, forget it! The police already hate me, the last thing I need is for them to catch me taking a troubled teenager to his drug dealer.”

“Fine, I’ll walk.” He reached for the door, but not before I pressed the automatic locks.

“I’ll take you somewhere else.”

“Somewhere that sells pot?”

I sighed and looked up at the clouds. “How about we get some ice cream.”

“Yeah, now I’m really out of here.” He unlocked the door, but I quickly locked it again. “You can’t keep me here against my will,” he whined. “That’s
really
illegal.”

“How ’bout an oxygen bar.”

He looked at me puzzled, but he didn’t reach for the lock again.

“It’s a cool high,” I said, encouraged. “I’ll buy you a hit.” The truth was I had never done the whole oxygen thing, not even when oxygen bars were all the rage, and those days had definitely passed. But for a teen who knew about The Cure and embraced Goth…well, an oxygen bar seemed just about right. “I’ll even throw in a shot of hemp oil.”

Zach treated me to an exaggerated eye roll. “Hemp oil doesn’t do shit,” he said. “It’s not like smoking it.”

“How do you know?” I asked. “Have you ever tried hemp oil?” Zach’s silence answered my question. “Great, then it’s a deal. We’ll go to an oxygen bar, have some hemp and talk things over. I’m trying to figure out what’s up with all these Specter Society people and you seem like just the guy who can give me the real dirt.”

Zach snorted. “You’re gonna need a shovel.”

“Got one in my purse.” I dangled my oversize handbag in front of his face before reaching in it and pulling out my cell.

“Who are you calling?”

“My friend Marcus,” I said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to an oxygen bar and he’ll know which ones are still in business.”

Marcus picked up on the second ring. “I couldn’t hate you more if you were Lindsay Lohan and I was Paris Hilton,” he said.

I glanced at Zach. “I don’t think they hate each other anymore.”

“Give them time,” he said. “I had to listen to Dena bitch for an hour about Jason and about how you should have told her that he was in that Speckle Society of yours—”

“Specter Society.”

“…and all of her sad little excuses for why she had to dump poor-little-vampire-boy—”

“Dena doesn’t make excuses.”

“Apparently it’s her new thing,” Marcus said curtly. “Anyhoo, the point is that I was tortured. This wasn’t one of those ambiguous forms of torture like water-boarding. No, honey, this was a direct violation of the Geneva Convention. I just got off work and I’m going to get myself a cocktail immediately.”

I gave Zach my best be-patient-smile and plowed on. “I know you’re ticked at me, Marcus, and I do promise to make it up to you, but right now I was hoping you could recommend an oxygen bar.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Honey, oxygen bars stopped being fabulous in 2001.”

“I know, I know, but I’m here with a Goth teenage rebel and this is the only legal drug I can buy him.”

“Really? Have you tried Wite-Out?”

“Marcus,” I said warningly.

“Fine, go to Breather, it’s located on the corner of Market and Church.”

“Seriously, Marcus? The Castro? He’s not that kind of boy.”

Zach shifted in his seat and his eyes darted quickly in both directions as if he was afraid of being caught or found out…or maybe dragged out of the closet.

“Actually,” I said carefully, “The Castro should be okay.”

“Will it now?” Marcus asked, his interest clearly picking up. “Tell me, Sophie, what are you doing hanging out with a teenager?”

“Um, I know his mom,” I said, lowering my voice as if there was any way I could avoid being overheard by a boy who was literally sitting one foot away from me.

“So what?” Marcus asked. “Wait, did this mom ask you to play chaperone for her son? Does she know you’re an unapologetic sinner with a questionable relationship with a cat?”

“I am not a sinner…by San Francisco standards. And my relationship with my cat is totally normal and on the up-and-up.”

“Now, now, no need to get your tail ruffled. How old is this teenage Goth boy, anyway? Is he legal?”

“No, stay away.” I hung up and stuck my key into the ignition. “Ready?” I asked.

Zach shrugged his consent and within seconds we were on the road making our way toward Breather.

13

I used to go to oxygen bars, but that got too expensive so now I just try to hyperventilate over a perfume bottle.

—
The Lighter Side of Death

IT TOOK A FULL FORTY MINUTES FOR ZACH AND I TO FIND PARKING AND
when we did it was a parallel spot between two Harleys. I knew Anatoly adored me, but if I were to hit his bike, even accidentally, it would be hard for him to resist strangling me. So I could only imagine what reaction I would elicit from a couple of gay bikers if I ended up knocking one of these hogs over. Fortunately, I managed to avoid disaster and my parking prowess actually earned me a smile from Zach. Up until that point I had been unaware that his mouth was capable of turning upward.

As we moved through the crowd, Zach’s head was swiveling back and forth so quickly that you would have thought we were at a sporting event—a really exciting one at that—because with every swivel his eyes got a little bit wider. Obviously he hadn’t spent a lot of time, if any, in this part of the city. I tried to see my surroundings with the perspective of a newcomer. The Castro was…strange. It was a world-famous location, a place where tour buses designed to look like cable cars frequently drove through so that Fran and Stan from Wyoming could take pictures of Real San Franciscan Gays. Yet I always felt the neighborhood lacked a certain authenticity. There were too many restaurants and bars with names like
Hot & Hunky.
Too many rainbow flags, too many stores selling Marilyn Monroe memorabilia. It’s like the Castro was where gays went to be on stage whenever they were feeling bored with their normal lives as teachers, lawyers and/or choreographers. Breather demonstrated this idea perfectly. When Zach and I walked in, I found myself wanting to shield my eyes to protect them from all the brightness. Candy-colored bar stools were arranged in clusters surrounding little oxygen machines that appeared to be lifted right out of an old Jetsons cartoon…well, okay, the Jetsons didn’t have “Screaming Orgasm Flavored Oxygen,” but if they had it undoubtedly would have been stored in colorful ergonomically designed containers atop contemporary kiosks with backlit bubble walls. Old Erasure songs were playing on the stereo as men milled about, gossiping, drinking nonalcoholic spritzers and sucking on their scented oxygen like it was opium. In the middle of all this was a totally gorgeous, mocha-skinned man who absolutely was not supposed to be there.

“Wait here,” I said to Zach and marched over to where Marcus sat on his bright orange bar stool. “What are you doing here? I told you he’s underage!”

“Is that him?” Marcus asked, craning his neck to see Zach. “My God, what’s wrong with him? Is he in costume?”

“Marcus, why are you here?”

Marcus turned his twinkling eyes toward me and flashed me a blindingly white-toothed smile. “I wanted to do a good deed.”

“How is picking up on a fifteen-year-old a good deed? Wait, do I even want to hear this?”

“For God’s sake Sophie, that boy is hardly a masculine version of Lolita and even if he was I don’t do teenagers. I play exclusively with the big boys, the bigger the better,” he added with a wicked grin that made it impossible to escape his meaning. “I’m here to be a mentor to a troubled queer youth.”

“You’ve
got
to be kidding me.”

“Of course I’m kidding. I came here because I have this horrible feeling that you’re about to put yourself in danger again, and as your friend I’ve decided that I should at least try to be around enough to minimize the risk.”

“Really?” I asked, immediately softening. “Marcus thank—”

“That said, it is a given that when a Goth teenager asks you to take him to an oxygen bar in the Castro that’s a huge cry for help!”

I looked over my shoulder at Zach. He was unsuccessfully trying to hide his observation of two pastel-shirt-wearing men in the corner making out. Zach’s expression reminded me of Dorothy’s when she initially stumbled into Oz. Give him a pair of pigtails and a small dog and he’d be all set. “He’s a weird kid,” I said frankly. “I can’t figure out what to make of him.”

“Why did you agree to chaperone anyway?” Marcus asked, his shoulders relaxing slightly as the music switched from Erasure to one of his favorite Madonna singles. “Don’t tell me you’re developing a maternal instinct. This has to do with the house, right?”

“Right. I brought him here in the hopes of getting some information out of him about Enrico’s murder.” I gave him the Cliff Notes version of what went down at the flower shop and then at Maria’s.

Marcus shook his head in despair. “I can’t believe you. At what point did you decide to try to turn your life into a
Fear Factor
marathon?”

“I didn’t
decide…
” But then I waved my hands in the air, abandoning that line of defense. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. You’re not even supposed to be here. But since you are…” I reached over and toyed with one of his short and neatly groomed dreadlocks. “You could help me out with this. Maybe get him to open up about his family and Enrico Risso? He has some issues surrounding those people and I need to know what they are.”

Marcus grumbled something unintelligible before rolling his eyes in defeat. “I’m in, but only because someone has to keep you in line.” He then snapped his fingers in the air, grabbing Zach’s attention. “Yoo-hoo,” Marcus sang. “Sweeny Todd, come join us, sweetie.”

I could see Zach’s cheeks ripen under all that white powder, but he came over to the oxygen station that Marcus had staked out.

He looked at Marcus’s smiling face and then quickly looked away, becoming very absorbed in his oxygen selection. “I think I want that one,” he said, pointing to a pale orange container on the bar.

“Sex on the Beach?” I asked. “Sure, why not.”

Marcus gave Zach an approving nod. “Good choice. I was around your age when I tried sex on the beach for the first time, and let me tell you that sand got into all sorts of nasty places.”

“Marcus!” I snapped. “This is how you mentor the youth?”

“Don’t moralize me, honey. You’re the one who brought him here to get high on air.”

“You know, I can hear you,” Zach said. “I’m standing right here.”

“Sorry,” I said, plopping myself on the stool next to Marcus. “I didn’t mean to—”

“What
do
you mean to do?” Zach asked abruptly. “Why was it so important that we hang out?”

I hesitated for half a second before blurting out, “Do you think Maria killed Enrico? Because the police think she did, and if they’re right, then I’m not so sure I want to go to any more séances with her.”

Zach chewed on his bottom lip and stared down at his shoes. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “But if she did she deserves a frickin’ medal.”

Marcus blanched. “My, my. You are a dark little closet case, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a closet case! And I don’t give a shit if I’m being dark.” Zach sucked his upper lip in between his teeth giving himself the appearance of a humanistic warthog. “Enrico
was
evil. I wish I could have been there when he died. I wish I could have been the one to stick the blade in. I would have made sure he saw it coming, too, and then I’d do it again and again—”

“
Hi, guys!
Can I take your order?” We all jumped as the floppy-haired waiter beamed down at us. “Oh, my goodness! I startled you all, didn’t I?” he asked. “I bet I interrupted a juicy gossip session, didn’t I?” He looked from Marcus to me to Zach then back to Marcus. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the bubbles in the walls of the kiosk shoot skyward only to pop from the pressure. No one said anything.

The waiter shifted from foot to foot. “Maybe I should come back in a few minutes,” he offered.

“Yeah, that would be good,” I said. The waiter nodded quickly and rushed off, desperate to escape an awkward moment.

“Zach,” I said softly, “what exactly did Enrico do to you?” I found myself hoping that it was something truly horrible, because if it wasn’t then I was about to suck oxygen with a boy who might end up being the next generation’s Zodiac Killer.

Zach looked off into space. “I should just go.”

Marcus leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. There was no flirtation in the gesture, just a kind of platonic, almost paternal concern. “Zach,” he said, “what did he do?”

Zach didn’t jerk away. Instead he stared down at Marcus’s hand, as if its presence was totally inexplicable, but not entirely unwelcome. “Nothing to me,” he finally said. “But my sister…” His voice trailed off and his shoulders hunched over so that his body formed the shape of a depressed letter C.

“What about your sister?” Marcus pushed.

“He raped her.” He was whispering now and both Marcus and I had to lean forward to catch the words. “He raped her when she was thirteen and he…he got her pregnant.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. That was infinitely worse than what I was expecting, but the story had a flaw.

“Zach,” I said carefully, “you don’t have a sister.”

“I do,” Zach corrected. “At least I did. I did before she killed herself trying to abort the baby at home.”

I recoiled and slapped my hand over my mouth as I felt bile sting my throat. But Marcus’s hand remained on Zach’s shoulder and now all the laughter that had been in his brown eyes only minutes ago had morphed into sympathy. “How did she do it?” he asked.

“Herbs and essential oils.”

“I don’t think I understand.” Marcus’s eyebrows inched lower as he tried to make sense of this.

“She tried to give herself a herbal abortion. She found the instructions online. She told me it was safe and not to tell anybody. I should have ratted her out. If I had…”

“How old were you when this happened?” Marcus asked.

“Eleven.”

“Eleven-year-old boys don’t tell on their thirteen-year-old sisters, not when it comes to the serious stuff.”

“How did this even happen?” I asked. “Was it at a séance or—”

“We didn’t belong to the stupid Specter Society then. My dad lays floors for commercial properties, like marble floors and shit. Dad was friends with Oscar and Oscar was one of Enrico’s investors, so when Enrico wanted new floors for his newest restaurant Oscar recommended my dad.”

“But how did Enrico ever get any time alone with your thirteen-year-old sister?” I asked.

“My sister wanted to be a chef so my dad set it up so she could have private lessons.” Zach said the last two words with the acidity that conveyed his full meaning. “Oscar knew, too. He was one of Enrico’s business partners and he was always around. I know he knew. Sometimes Dad would take me and Deb to Enrico’s restaurant before it was open and Oscar would be there.”

Zach’s hand was flat against the chrome surface of the bar, his veins pushing further and further into view as he increased the pressure of his palm. “Oscar would look at Enrico, and then he’d look at my sister and then the son of a bitch would laugh. That fucker laughed.”

Marcus finally pulled back, crossing his arms across his chest. “You’re right. Enrico deserved to be slashed up with a scythe.”

Zach did a quick double take. What had he expected Marcus to do? Try to smother him with platitudes that couldn’t possibly ease the pain? I could only imagine how long Zach had kept all of that information tucked inside. And now he was volunteering the story to us. God only knows why. Maybe because we were strangers and he could afford to alienate us. Or maybe, for some unfathomable reason, he trusted us. I looked toward the picture windows on the other side of the restaurant. It was night now and you could see the wind urging the planted trees into a violent dance.

“I knew a long time ago that I was going to—” Zach began.

“Don’t say it,” I said quickly. “If you want, I can get you set up with a lawyer. But don’t confess anything to me or anyone else. I believe that revenge can be therapeutic, but I’m not so sure about prison.”

“Why would I go to prison?” he asked. “I didn’t do anything. Maria’s the one who cut him up.”

The waiter returned at that moment holding his pad and pencil firmly in front of him. “Sorry, but you guys really have to order something if you’re going to stay. We have drinks and vegan pastries if you don’t want oxygen, but the bossman here says nobody stays without ordering.”

“Sex on the Beach oxygen for all of us,” I said quietly, sincerely wishing that we could substitute the scented oxygen for the cocktail that was its namesake.

“We sell it for $1.50 per minute, five minute minimum per person. Each person gets their own nasal cannula—that would be a nose hose to you and me.”

Under the best of circumstances this guy would have annoyed me, but now as I followed Zach down this dark path of memory, the waiter’s like-me-like-me-like-me routine was almost enough to send me over the edge.

“We’ll take five minutes for each of us,” Marcus said.

“You sure you don’t want to buy more minutes?” the waiter asked. “They say once you inhale it’s hard to stop. I do it two or three times a day! I really think it’s accountable for my chipper disposition.”

Marcus, Zach and I all studied him for half a second before we all started talking at once, each one of us changing our oxygen order to a fruit spritzer. As it turns out, hemp oil wasn’t on the menu.

Marcus looked around at the crowd in the bar. A group of men a few kiosks over burst into cheers, many of them raising their glasses as they saluted some unknown success. The environment was beyond inappropriate considering the situation, and, despite my better instincts, I wondered if I should have given in earlier and taken Zach to a cannabis club. “How do you know Maria killed Enrico, Zach?” I asked. “Did she tell you?”

“No, she’s not stupid.” Zach pulled gently on the lobe of his ear. “But it’s kinda obvious she did it. You heard him call someone a bitch so we know it was a woman and Maria showed up at the Specter Society meeting so there’s that and—”